OLD John Clevenger lets on, Allus, like he's purty rough Timber. -- He's a grate old John! -- "Rough?" -- don't swaller no sich stuff! Moved here, sence the war was through, From Ohio -- somers near Old Bucyrus, -- loyal, too, As us "Hoosiers" is to @3here!@1 Git old John stirred up a bit On his old home stompin'-ground -- Talks same as he lived thare yit, When some subject brings it round -- Like, fer instunce, Sund'y last, Fetched his wife, and et and stayed All night with us. -- Set and gassed Tel plum midnight -- 'cause I made Some remark 'bout "buckeyes" and "What was buckeyes good fer?" -- So, Like I 'lowed, he waved his hand And lit in and let me know: -- "'What is Buckeyes good fer? -- What's @3Pineys@1 and @3fergit-me-nots?@1 -- Honeysuckles, and sweet peas, And sweet-williamsuz and these Johnny-jump-ups ev'rywhare, Growin' round the roots o' trees In Spring-weather? -- what air @3they@1 Good fer? -- kin you tell me -- @3Hey?@1 'Good to look at?' Well they air! 'Specially when @3Winter's@1 gone; Clean @3dead-cert'in!@1 and the wood's Green again, and sun feels good's June! -- and shed your blame boots on The back porch, and lit out to Roam round like you ust to do, Bare-foot, up and down the crick, Whare the buckeyes growed so thick, And witch-hazel and pop-paws, And hackberries and black-haws -- With wild pizen-vines jist knit @3Over@1 and @3en-nunder@1 it, And wove round it all, I jing! Tel you couldn't hardly stick A durn @3case-knife@1 through the thing! Wriggle round through @3that;@1 and then -- All het-up, and scratched and tanned, And muskeeter-bit and mean- Feelin' -- all at onc't again, Come out suddent on a clean Slopin' little hump o' green Dry soft grass, as fine and grand As a pollor-sofy! -- And Jis pile down thare! -- and tell @3me@1 @3Anywhares@1 you'd ruther be -- 'Ceptin' @3right thare@1, with the wild- Flowrs all round ye, and your eyes Smilin' with 'em at the skies, Happy as a little child! Well! -- right here, @3I@1 want to say, Poets kin talk all they please 'Bout 'wild-flowrs, in colors gay,' And 'sweet blossoms flauntin' theyr Beauteous fragrunce on the breeze' -- But the sight o' @3buckeyes@1 jis Sweet to me as @3blossoms@1 is! "I'm @3Ohio-born@1 -- right whare People's @3all@1 called 'Buckeyes' @3thare@1 -- 'Cause, I s'pose, our buckeye crap's Biggest in the world, perhaps! -- Ner my head don't stretch my hat Too much on account o' @3that!@1 -- 'Cause it's Natchur's ginerus hand Sows 'em broadcast ore the land, With eye-single fer man's good And the gineral neghborhood! So @3buckeyes@1 jis natchurly 'Pears like @3kith-and-kin@1 to @3me!@1 'S like the good old sayin' wuz, 'Purty @3is@1 as purty @3does!'@1 -- We can't @3eat@1 'em, cookd er raw -- Yit, I mind, @3tomattusuz@1 Wuz considerd pizenus @3Onc't@1 -- and dasen't eat 'em! -- @3Pshaw@1 -- 'Twouldn't take @3me@1 by supprise, Some day, ef we et @3buckeyes!@1 That, though, 's nuther here ner thare! -- @3Jis the Buckeye@1, whare we air, In the present times, is what Ockuppies my lovin' care And my most perfoundest thought! . . . Guess, this minute, what I got In my pocket, 'at I've packed Purt' nigh forty year. -- A dry, Slick and shiny, warped and cracked, Wilted, weazened old @3buckeye!@1 What's it @3thare@1 fer? What's my hart In my @3brest@1 fer? -- 'Cause it's part Of my @3life@1 -- and 'tends to biz -- Like this @3buckeye's@1 bound to act -- 'Cause @3it@1 tends to @3Rhumatiz!@1 ". . . Ketched more @3rhumatiz@1 than @3fish@1, Seinen', onc't -- and pants froze on My blame legs! -- And ust to wish I wuz well er @3dead and gone!@1 Doc give up the case, and shod His old hoss again and stayed On good roads! -- @3And thare I laid!@1 Pap he tuck some bluegrass sod Steeped in whisky, bilin'-hot, And socked @3that@1 on! Then I got Sorto' holt o' him, @3somehow@1 -- Kindo' crazy-like, they say -- And I'd @3killed@1 him, like as not, Ef I hadn't swooned away! @3Smell my scortcht pelt purt' nigh now!@1 Well -- to make a long tale short -- I hung on the blame disease Like a shavin'-hoss! and sort O' wore it out by slow degrees -- Tel my legs wuz straight enugh To poke through my pants again And kick all the doctor-stuff In the fi-er-place! Then turned in And tuck Daddy Craig's old cuore -- @3Jis a buckeye@1 -- and that's @3shore@1. -- Hain't no case o' rhumatiz Kin subsist whare buckeyes is!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DISAPPOINTED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE TUFT OF FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST THE MEANING OF PRAYER by JAMES MONTGOMERY THE DEAR PRESIDENT by JOHN JAMES PIATT SABBATH HYMN by SOLOMON BEN MOSES HA-LEVI ALKABEZ OVID TO HIS WIFE: IMITATED FROM DIFFERENT PARTS OF TRISTIA by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE DEATH OF YE LIFE OF LOVE by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |